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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Norman Dubie - An Annual of the Dark Physics

The Baltic Sea froze in 1307. Birds flew north

From the Mediterranean in early January.

There were meteor storms throughout Europe.


On the first day of Lent

Two children took their own lives:

Their bodies

Were sewn into goatskins

And were dragged by the hangman’s horse

The three miles down to the sea.

They were given a simple grave in the sand.


The following Sunday, Meister Eckhart

Shouted that a secret word

Had been spoken to him. He preached


That Mary Magdalene

Sought a dead man in the tomb

But, in her confusion, found

Only two angels laughing. . .


This was a consequence of her purity


And her all too human grief.

The Baltic Sea

Also froze in 1303—

Nothing happened that was worthy of poetry.

El Rojo de Almodóvar

Pedro Almodóvar's Obsessions (I): Red Color from Jorge Luengo Ruiz on Vimeo.

Part 1 of my upcoming Almodóvar serie where I display spanish filmmaker's obsessions with more prestige and most recognized in the world.

Films used:

- Entre tinieblas (Dark Habits, 1983)
- ¿Qué he hecho yo para merecer esto? (Have I Done to Deserve this?, 1984)
- Matador (1986)
- La ley del deseo (Law of Desire, 1987)
- Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios (Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, 1989)
- ¡Átame! (Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!, 1990)
- Tacones lejanos (High Heels, 1991)
- Kika (1993)
- La flor de mi secreto (The Flower of My Secret, 1995)
- Carne trémula (Live Flesh, 1997)
- Todo sobre mi madre (All About My Mother, 1999)
- Hable con ella (Talk with Her, 2002)
- La mala educación (Bad Education, 2004)
- Volver (2006)
- Los abrazos rotos (Broken Embraces, 2009)
- La piel que habito (The Skin I live In, 2011)
- Los amantes pasajeros (I'm so Excited, 2013)
- Julieta (2016)

Song: Luz Casal- Un año de amor (from soundtrack High Heels)

Adrienne Rich - Twenty-One Love Poems [(The Floating Poem, Unnumbered)]

Whatever happens with us, your body
will haunt mine—tender, delicate
your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond
of the fiddlehead fern in forests
just washed by sun. Your traveled, generous thighs
between which my whole face has come and come—
the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found there—
the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth—
your touch on me, firm, protective, searching
me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers
reaching where I had been waiting years for you
in my rose-wet cave—whatever happens, this is.